


A Star Fell From Your Heart

by allourheroes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allourheroes/pseuds/allourheroes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur was not Guinevere's greatest love, not even close. It was true she cared for him, perhaps even loved him, but he did not come first in her heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Star Fell From Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Set mid-series four. Written for grooveity on tumblr. There's implied Merlin/Arthur because I just can't help myself.
> 
> There's also a posting of it with the sex cut out ("PG-13 version") if that's what you're looking for.

Arthur was not Guinevere’s greatest love, not even close. It was true she cared for him, perhaps even loved him, but he did not come first in her heart.

She was certain, however, that she was not his, either.

Merlin pushed it, tried to keep them together, but she saw the sorrow in his eyes, the loneliness, the way Arthur ranked above all else in his life. He thought that Gwen and Arthur were happy together and that’s what mattered most. Why should all of them needlessly pretend?

Lancelot had been close, closer than Arthur in her heart’s affections, but even he was not her greatest love.

So she ran, sought out the heart with which hers shared its beat.

Guinevere was not betraying her king’s loyalty, but perhaps that of her would be lover. She would never tell Camelot’s secrets, only her own.

It was as if she was instinctively heading towards the warmth and familiarity of home. She felt like she’d been lost, searching for her place and unable to find it. She’d been going the wrong direction for miles and had only just found her way.

Gwen could sense that she was close. There was this feeling enveloping her, inviting her towards it.

She stopped running.

There, amidst the greenery was nestled a little hovel. She could feel her legs aching now, begging her mercy, but she was here now. Just a bit farther and she would be within her refuge.

The door opened and the dim glow of candlelight poured out, warming the thin silhouette hovering just inside. “Guinevere,” the figure called, “what a lovely surprise.” There was no shock in her voice, nor her demeanor, as she graciously stepped aside.

Gwen knew, despite everything, she still needed to err on the side of caution. It had been a long time since the only matters had been between the two of them, before many battles had been fought and startling secrets revealed.

She approached the doorway, the warm, golden light, and stumbled over an oddly placed stone. Panic struck for what felt like whole minutes, but before she could fall, Morgana was there, catching her. Gwen’s hands, which had gone forward instinctually to brace her fall, instead groped warm flesh and lacy, black cloth. They were face to face, hot breath huffing out against her cheek, Morgana’s lithe arms wrapped around her. She could see how tired the witch was, how haggard, yet she was as beautiful as she ever was, perhaps more so.

Morgana was a mess, but so was she.

The woman’s nervousness--and loneliness--was obvious in the tremble she gave at this contact, and she quickly pulled away, her hand finding Guinevere’s to safely lead her inside.

Her body was suddenly, intensely, painfully cold and wanting at the loss of such full contact. Morgana was silent as they entered the hovel, sitting her down at the table as she turned to the fire. Gwen wasn’t sure if she had simply stoked it as one normally does or had used her magic. She found that she didn’t really mind which.

The girl’s eyes outlined the curves of Morgana’s body, how thin she had become, thinner now than Gwen can ever remember having seen her before. No more brightness in her clothing, her skin pale as the moonlight.

It had been a long time since they had been this close without one plotting against the other, but this was neither the setting nor the circumstance for that and they were both very aware of it.

Morgana knew Gwen wouldn’t seek her out in anger or vengeance. Not alone. Not like this.

“What of Arthur?”

There was no movement and, for a moment, Gwen wondered if she had imagined the words, but Morgana’s head turned, tilting towards her questioningly.

Gwen folded her hands over her lap and swallowed down the lump in her throat brought on by her nerves that were only now reacting to her situation. The surety in her heart was enough to calm them. “Merlin will care for him.”

Morgana felt the anger rising in her chest, but it was not the time to exact her revenge on Arthur’s servant, no matter how worthy he was of her punishment after all he’d done. Besides, that was another question answered. She had always wondered why Merlin and Arthur had been so willing to risk everything for the other, and yet she’d been blind to the answer as it stared her in the face--or, more accurately, in the looks Merlin and Arthur shared at every opportunity. She couldn’t help the way the corner of her mouth twisted upwards at that realization. “Of course he will.”

The young woman watched her, obviously waiting for _something._

“What brings you here, Guinevere? Other than the fine atmosphere.” She gestured around the little room her life was now spent in, a smile written over with her obvious upset at her situation took its place on her face.

“Oh, Morgana, what has happened to you?”

Morgana opens her mouth to let all of her anger lash out but Gwen shushes her, standing up to drag Morgana down onto a seat by the table and hovering behind her. “What are you--” she starts, but Gwen is freeing her hair, running her fingers through the mess and catching them on the tangles now residing in what had once flowed so smoothly.

“You’ve always had such beautiful hair, I don’t know why you wouldn’t brush it.” She doesn’t expect any explanation, but Morgana isn’t forthcoming with her reasoning anyway. Gwen searches around the room with her eyes until she spots a comb and plucks it from its resting place. She’s gentle, like she had been before, as she pulls it through the snarled knots of hair.

The witch finds this act of familiarity perplexing, but finds comfort in it nonetheless. It had been a long time since anyone had tried to take care of her. Agravaine might have tried, if she had allowed him, but it would be nothing like this.

So she sits in peaceful quietude, feeling little tugs on her head--never enough to cause any pain, Gwen had always been careful like that. An age passed, the feeling stopped and Gwen cleared her throat, disturbingly loud when the only sounds had been that of the comb and the crackling of the now dwindling fire, candles burned down to little stumps. “What is it?”

“Water?”

Morgana hesitated, thinking, “For what purpose?”

Coloring slightly, which was ridiculous given the number of times she’d done it before, but that had been in the sanctity of the castle walls--and almost in front of those kidnappers, once--Gwen tried to speak confidently, “If you’ve got enough to draw a bath, I could wash your hair for you.” She paused and drew in a shaky breath, “If you’d like me to, of course. I just thought…”

“I am capable of preparing myself a bath, Guinevere.” It sounded like rejection, and, in a way, it was. Morgana had no intention of losing any part of her new independence, nor of forcing someone who’d taken such a chance in coming to find her, who might actually care about her, to go back to being simply a servant. (Although, if she were honest, it had been a very long time since Gwen had only been her serving maid. They had been fast friends and Morgana had hated the boundaries placed upon them by their classes.)

“Oh. Alright, then.” Her hands dropped from where she had been idly picking up and running her fingers through untangled locks, lingering at the ends for a moment in regret for having ruined their comfortable silence to begin with.

Quickly, Morgana adds, “No, I mean…I can draw a bath, but I certainly wouldn’t mind”-- _your_ , she thinks as loudly as she can--“a bit of company.”

Gwen smiles at her now, genuinely, and Morgana hadn’t realized how much she missed it, how wrapped up in jealousy she had been over Gwen’s supposed future as queen. The idea flits past her mind quite swiftly of the two of them together on their thrones, ruling over the land that was rightfully hers. Perhaps one day.

So she sets about readying her bath, heating it with a simple incantation, and Gwen sees that golden glow in her eyes. She feels that quivering fear in the pit of her stomach, that deep ingrained aversion to magic, but also a sense of wonder. She can’t help thinking how stunning Morgana looks, despite everything. She hates that she wants to forgive her completely, seeing the way she lives now, beginning to understand what all has happened.

Morgana’s arms stretch back, fingers searching for the ties to undo the binding. Instead, they touch Gwen’s, which work calmly and easily at the strings.

The witch slips herself out of her dress, Gwen still behind her, and the girl can see the fading purple bruises under Morgana’s ribs--which are far too apparent on her thinner body. She finds her fingers drawn to them and just as they touch the skin ever-so-lightly. Morgana flinches.

It’s been a long time.

The expanse of pale flesh is accented by her long, dark hair, falling low down her back now that it’s been released from its mess. She steps into the water, sinking into it, although it’s not so much a bath as something vaguely resembling it.

She sits in the end of the tub and brings her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them tightly, her head above the water, but hair in silky tresses beneath the surface. She looks down as she speaks, unused to having an actual someone to talk to--that she _wanted_ to talk to. “You could join me, if you’d like.”

The invitation is unsure, as if all this up to now has simply been a trick.

This new Morgana is not what Gwen had thought when she’d shown all of her cruelty, attempting to bring down Camelot so that she could rise as its queen. No, even with all of that malice inside of her, Gwen could see her vulnerability, the facade of confidence she’d always kept fading away as it had when they’d been younger, more innocent, when it was the two of them alone and Morgana could allow the tears to fall that she couldn’t bear Uther seeing.

Hesitantly, Gwen undressed, Morgana peering at her slyly, sideways, through a curtain of hair as she did. Slowly, achingly slow, she settled in on the other side, their knees bumping.

That was a sign, apparently, as Morgana shifted, water spilling over the edge as she backed up into Guinevere, whose legs stretched easily around her lithe form, making herself a space with her back to the woman’s chest.

“Morgana?”

“Is this alright?”

Guinevere nods, her chin gently bumping the top of Morgana’s head. She starts to put her arms around her, and Morgana greedily pulls at them, pressing them tight to her ribs and chest, fingers lacing between Gwen’s and holding herself close. “It’s nice to be close to someone, to feel a heart beating with your own.” She speaks softly, as if mentioning it will put Gwen off, but the other girl just settles in against her more fully, hands flexing to clutch Morgana’s.

They lay there, resting, intermittently scrubbing at skin and washing hair, until Morgana turns again, slipping her fingers away that her hands can grip the edge of the tub. She’s down much further in the water, face just barely floating above, peering up into Gwen’s. “You’re so beautiful, Guinevere. I’ve always thought so.” She pulls herself up, pressing her body close to her former servant, an arm wrapping around the girl’s neck, caressing her darker skin lightly, reverently.

Out of those clothes and makeup washed away, she looks like she used to, when they had no reason to ever question their friendship, when it could’ve been more.

Her eyes skim downwards from Gwen’s to the girl’s mouth and Guinevere understands completely. She hooks her arms under Morgana’s, clutching at her back and pulls her in close. She wonders, for a moment, their lips just barely brushing past each other’s, where all of this instinct is coming from, this confidence in her actions, but she pushes past it, and closes her eyes. Warm, although wet, lips press to hers and she responds, preserving the chastity of this small contact even with their nude bodies entwined.

Morgana deepens the kiss leisurely, in no hurry to lose that feeling. She presses a bit harder, her teeth scraping lightly on Gwen’s bottom lip, and the girl’s mouth opening, just a sliver, to run her tongue over it. Nails scratch her back in agreement as she slips her tongue between Gwen’s parted lips, along her top teeth before retreating to wait for a counter. They fall into the ease of it, tongues sliding against each other, the occasional nip at the sensitive skin of lips, huffing hot breaths out against each other even as the water goes cold. 

They had only done anything like this once before, so many years ago, when Morgana had been drinking to spite Uther. She had drunk enough wine for Gwen’s assistance to be absolutely necessary for getting her back to her chambers. Morgana had been off-balance, but silent, as Gwen had helped her out of her frock and into bed. As soon as Gwen laid her down, she pulled at her insistently, tumbling the girl down into the sheets with her, kissing her breathless.

Gwen had known she should resist, and yet she had responded just as enthusiastically, hands cupping Morgana’s face, fingers tangling lightly into her long locks. Somehow, despite her earlier faults, Morgana’s vigor had been renewed, and she had Gwen on her back, hovering over her gleefully, her long hair tickling Guinevere’s neckline. Then, she had slipped her hand down to wear Gwen’s skirt had been rucked up around her thighs in the jostling of their movements.

She had bucked and gasped as Morgana palmed at her. No one else had ever touched her there before--it felt different than when she had done it herself.

Then, a knocked came at the door and Gwen had snapped back to reality, quickly shimmying out from under her drunken mistress and straightening her clothing, smoothing down her hair. Morgana had fallen down into the mattress, pouting at her as if she had wronged her very personally.

She had answered the call from the door, hoping the flush had mostly gone from her cheeks, and faced Arthur, who wanted a chat with Uther’s favorite ward, only to find that Morgana had now slipped into sweet unconsciousness, tangled in her sheets.

They hadn’t spoken of it then, and Gwen would’ve thought Morgana didn’t remember any of it, were it not for the way her gaze would linger on her afterwards, until Morgause came and changed everything. Gwen might have described the look as longing, but that made her feel as if she thought too highly of herself, so she had reduced it to a simple curiosity.

Gwen sighs, remembering with a mixture of conflicting feelings arising, and presses one last chaste kiss to Morgana’s mouth.

“I can assume it’s alright if I stay, then?”

Morgana laughs, still catching her breath, and positions herself to stand. After getting herself out, she helps Guinevere do the same and the two dry themselves off, slipping into her bed.

It’s quite comfortable, especially for something found in a hovel.

The two lay there staring at one another in an uneasy silence. Things had become very clear now, with all facades having fallen away. It was dark but for the flickering of a few remaining candles coming ever closer to their demise.

“I had hoped,” Morgana says finally, “that someday you might be back at my side.” This level of honesty was one which had always been reserved exclusively for Gwen. “Despite everything, I missed you terribly, even if I myself was loathe to admit it.”

“Morgana, I’m glad to be here--with you,” she clarifies, “but you must know that I won’t betray Camelot, not ever.” The witch opens her mouth to request clarification, to perhaps wrinkle in that little sense of suggestive doubt, but Gwen continues. “I’m here because I love you, that I’ve loved you for longer than I’ve known the meaning of the word, not out of disloyalty.”

Morgana brushes the damp curls from the girl’s face, “I don’t need anything more from you, Guinevere. I love you, and what else may come will be dealt with then. Can we not simply be content with one another’s company?”

Gwen smiled a gentle, mischievous smile and pressed a kiss to Morgana’s lips in agreement. This was all they needed now.

The taller woman pulled her in close, an arm snaking around her back, toying with the drying tendrils of hair she found up near the nape of Guinevere’s neck. “Do you remember, all those nights ago, when I had you in my bed?” Morgana whispered, smiling before her tongue flicked out to briefly touch Gwen’s upper lip, and then delving into another kiss. The tips of her fingers traveled down from neck to collarbone to the curve of a breast, causing a shuddering inhale of breath from her former servant.

Gwen nodded, catching Morgana’s wandering hand with her own to give it a quick squeeze. She moved her own hands to the witch’s hip, smoothing it across the arch of her bottom.

The kiss was slow--the gentle suck of a lip, the slide of a tongue, the scrape of teeth, the breathy sighs.

Morgana’s thumb finds the draw of a nipple and flicks past it, only to return to rub circles over it, the soft flesh hard and peaking under her ministrations. She just needs one little sign of acquiescence before she goes any further and receives it in the form of a knee pressing between her legs. She allows it, but her mouth starts its path from Guinevere’s to her chin, then her neck, tongue running along the taut muscles there and suckling on her pulse point.

Fingernails dig in and she scrapes her own nails gently down the other woman’s back, earning a shiver and the unconscious thrust of hips. Morgana curves her back outwards so that she can dip her mouth farther in between them, pinching a nipple as she does so. Her breath is hot on Guinevere’s skin and she takes great satisfaction in the gasp she hears as her lips close around the other one, hand skidding down to the back of Gwen’s thigh and untangling their legs.

She pulls in just the right places to encourage Gwen onto her back, which she obliges. Each of her hands now take its place beside Gwen’s ribs, kneeling between her thighs. Morgana can’t help the instinctual movement of her hips, to rub her sex against her companion’s.

Gwen keens embarrassingly, her own hips stuttering upward to greet Morgana’s, and throws an arm over her face to hide. The witch, instead, takes it and brings it to her breast, which Gwen’s hand cups eagerly, splaying her fingers across the warm flesh. “Morgana, please,” slips out and Gwen bites her lip to stop more from coming.

A bit breathless, Morgana smiles, “What do you want?” She presses close again, rubbing against her in that deliciously teasing way that makes Gwen want to push up towards her and seek as much friction as she could possibly get.

Groaning was the most she could articulate at the time, so she pushes Morgana’s hand down between them. She breathes in deeply, trying to calm herself enough to speak. “Please, just-- _please_.”

The control she has over the woman who could have been Queen of Camelot is more pleasing than even Morgana was comfortable admitting.

Morgana’s lips brushed past Gwen’s as she slid down her body, settling herself between the girl’s legs. The scent was thick and heady and Morgana loved it. Placing a hand securely on the inside of each thigh, she laid her tongue flat against the hard little bundle of nerves and swiped it upwards.

Gwen’s legs attempted to spread themselves wider and Morgana nipped at the sensitive flesh where her legs met her body. “I thought about doing this,” her breath teasing on the sweat and saliva-slick skin, “when you’d come to wake me,” she flicked her tongue over the mound, “to push you back on the table and lift up your skirt, to find you already wet for me, smelling like this,” she moaned, licking downwards to find the girl soaking and open. Her tongue slid in briefly before trailing back to Gwen’s clit.

“That wouldn’t have been appropriate,” Gwen says, but her voice is shaking and her body is straining for more, more, more. She feels Morgana’s moving, laving her tongue over her, and the pleasure shooting through her body making her writhe.

Morgana laps at it, sucks at it, her fingers sliding up to the girl’s entrance. Its wet and slick and one of her fingers slips in easily. Gwen bucks and she uses her other hand to hold her down by the hip.

Guinevere grips Morgana’s hair, twisting it, tugging as she tries to overcome this overwhelming feeling as it builds up inside of her, the world going bright around the edges behind her eyelids. Then, another finger slips in and Morgana can feel how tight she is, her body tensing and Morgana moves faster now, knows what’s coming.

Gwen chokes out a noise as her body convulses around Morgana’s fingers, finished, and Morgana’s tongue begins to lick her slowly, gently.

She shakes for a minute afterwards, as the other woman removes herself from her where she had been nestled between Gwen’s thighs settles next to her.

Morgana is light-headed with her desire, needy and _wanting_ and Gwen can see it.

Guinevere leans down to suck on a nipple and Morgana is already moaning wantonly at the contact. Her hand takes its place at the crux of her hips and she knows that there is no need for caution or gentility at this point, she rubs fast and hard against the sensitized flesh, her mouth moving up to bite and lick at Morgana’s pale neck. Morgana’s skin is like fire, burning, as she plays with a nipple, giving it a hard squeeze as her other hand continues to move, speeding up ever more so. “For me, my lady,” she murmurs into the girl’s ear, and lets her teeth graze down behind it.

Morgana’s hips stutter and she quivers as as she comes, not making a sound.

“Thank you, Guinevere,” she says, after they’ve been lying there together for quite some time.

Gwen makes a noise in question, close to drifting off into a much needed slumber. She curls in closer to the other woman, bodies pressed warm and tight against each other, and hopes that the night won’t be freezing as the last of the candles have gone out.

“Thank you for coming back, for hearing my call.” Morgana’s hand searches out Guinevere’s and twines their fingers together.

Gwen just nods, resting her chin on Morgana’s shoulder.

There’s a chill in the air and the witch is forced to disturb her tired companion, propping herself up on her elbows. She whispers words that Gwen wouldn’t understand, whether or not she was awake, and the fire revives, its warmth spreading throughout the room a little quicker than it naturally would have.

Despite its unfamiliarity, Morgana feels comfortable. She’s never really had anyone to share her bed with like this, but it certainly detracts from her loneliness.

She hopes desperately that Agravaine--or worse, _Emrys_ \--won’t stop by without warning as she would like to enjoy waking to Gwen’s sleeping face and having as much time as she wants to examine every detail of it in the light.

Even if the thought of being caught with the would be Queen of Camelot in her arms was quite tempting.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Star Fell From Your Heart (PG-13 Version)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/343516) by [allourheroes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allourheroes/pseuds/allourheroes)




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